Inside Wants Out
by burningroom8
Summary: [FlackLindsay] There are five stages in a relationship... Stage Two: Daylight
1. Dawn: Hassle

**Prompt: **Dawn for **fivebyfiction (**see profile)  
**Summary: **Flack is roped into picking up the new girl at the airport.  
**Notes: **Part 1/5 of a Flack/Lindsay prompt set. I've never written a freaking thing before, so con-crit and a general liked it/not is love.

* * *

He had complained. Boy, had he complained. But every excuse in the book was worthless against Mac Taylor. Fifteen minutes before Flack was supposed to leave, and he was still trying to talk his way out of it. "I've got some stuff ta do, and I won't be working with her much anyways." A thick folder was shoved into his hands, and the train of thought was lost. "I'm off the clock right now."

"Oh, really?" The arid tone told him not to push it, but the younger man didn't get the memo while he was trying to balance the sheaf, his omnipresent cell phone, and a large cup of coffee all at once.

"I'm busy enough with the regular case load, I don't need to be babysittin' some chick just out of college in Podunk, Iowa."

"Bozeman. Montana. And I didn't ask you to baby-sit her, I just asked for you to pick her up at the airport, not show her around the city."

"Messer's off now. Whydon'tcha ask him?" He was about to go on, but case file flung in his general direction occupied all his brain power for the next few seconds.

"Already emailed her your cell phone number and description. And here's hers." A yellow Post-It Note was stuck to the top of the precarious pile, and Detective Flack was halfway out to his car before he realized he'd lost the argument.

* * *

She'd fallen asleep somewhere between Indiana and Ohio, and was surprised when she woke up to the grayness of a New York City dawn in the surrounding air. Looking across the bulky businessman in the seat next to her and through the window, she saw that they were less than a hundred feet from the runway. 

All around her passengers and flight attendants were bracing for the anticipated jolt. It clicked in her mind a few seconds too late, and the freshly opened bottle of mineral water in her hand dumped its contents all over her torso.

It miraculously escaped the other passengers and a set of preteen twin boys two rows to her right started to giggle and point. Just my luck. Lindsay Monroe escaped from the plane ten minutes later, with a green messenger bag, a large red splotch on her shirt where there should have been only pink, and a bruised ego.

The security and baggage claim section was a breeze, and only when Lindsay was standing outside clutching a soggy, unreadable Post-It Note did she feel truly lost.

Flack saw her first as he was muttering something about 'hassle' and 'tour guide' into his cell phone. He apologized to his friend, and snapped his phone shut and started walking. She was standing off to the side, cell phone in hand, peering with frustration at a soggy piece of paper. He glanced back down at his Post-It to confirm that it was her. It had to be. Short, shoulder-length brown hair, lost in a big city look on her face.

"Detective Monroe?" She whipped around so fast she almost ran straight into his chest. He sidestepped neatly and caught her before she fell flat on her face. When they had both regained their balance, he let go of her and stuck out his hand awkwardly. "Detective Flack."

"Hi." _That sounded so lame._

"Uh, hi." _Sounds lame when he says it, too._

The awkward moment was broken when the twins from the plane walked by and started laughing hysterically at Lindsay again. Flack gave her a look when they started rolling on the floor, to the chagrin of their mother standing a few feet away trying to look anonymous. "Clumsy." she said in explanation, pointing to her shirt with the now securely closed water bottle.

He turned away abruptly, hunched down by the spectacle, and shoved a badge in one of they boys' faces, and spoke the magic words. Moments later, they shot of the ground like a rocket, and apologized to Lindsay with a look Puss in Boots would be jealous of. They were gone a split second after Lindsay came out with a "s-okay" and were halfway down the hallway dragging their mother with them before she turned to Flack and spoke. "What the hell was that?"

He walking away and didn't feel like turning around again. "Told them you were FBI. And also the little-known fact that the Fibbies are cannibals."

"What?" It came out in a shriek as she was practically sprinting to catch up, due to his long stride. She slammed her feet down on the ground and lunged in front of him, planting herself down on the ground as hard as possible. This time he ran into her full force, and they tumbled to the ground, much to the amusement of the several hundred other passengers traveling through the hallway.

"You're NYPD now." He explained as he was helping her pick up all the crap necessary to travel with. "Calling you FBI was actually an insult. Thought you'd understand that."

"Well _excuse_ me for not knowing all the twisted traditions in this city."

"You're excused."

There was nothing she could respond to that without looking like an idiot, so she was silent as they strolled through the doors of JFK and out into New York City at dawn.


	2. Daylight: Spout

**Prompt: **Daylight **Summary: **First crime scene. First mistake. **Notes: **Part 2/5 of a Flack/Lindsay prompt set. Con-crit and a general liked it/not is love. I own nothing.

* * *

The buzz faded in and out of the telephone conversation, constantly reminding Lindsay that her best friend was several states away and not just a few miles like they were used to. She tuned her friend out for a moment, glancing around her at how other people were walking. Confidant, strong, rushed; weaving in and out of the crowd to find that opportunity to pull ahead of everyone else.

Lindsay mumbled the obligatory few words gotta-go-talk-to-ya-later and snapped the phone shut to keep up with the crowd. This was soon forgotten, shoes turned to concrete blocks, when the first glimmers red and blue shone through the daylight. New York's Finest were out, folks, and they were lookin' fine.

Officers, like a swarm of mosquitos attracted by the mesmerizing lights, walked this way and that looking important and untouchable. Lindsay could practically hear their thoughts. Her brain stopped, but her legs kept moving and before she new it, the little girl from Montana was in the middle of some very large and very busy looking NYPD cops. Mouth opened halfway, but a thick accent beat her to it.

"You must be the new one." The owner, a female, though it wasn't obvious because of the thick accent, was leaning against a squad car, left arm akimbo, right arm casually flicking the plastic cover of an officer's notebook up and down. "You're gonna have to get that deer-outta-the-headlights look out of your system before you meet your fellow geeks. Officer Cunningham, first on scene. It's not every day you see a man mauled by a tiger. Who picked you up from the airport? I heard Taylor's pretty good about the house warming things. Surprising for a man who lost his..."

"My name's Lindsay Monroe. And a Detective Flack picked me up."

"You like him?"

Lindsay had to wait several seconds to see if the talkative officer was really finished before she answered, "I guess so" _What is this, high school? _

"If you wanna be taken seriously around here, kid, you gotta lie convincingly. Or better yet, don't lie at all."

Mortified at being called a kid by someone who definitley looked younger than herself, and frustrated at being caught in such an awkward position her first day on the job, Lindsay blurted out the truth. "I think he's an asshole with an inflated ego."

Expecting a laugh, a frown, or a speech, and getting nothing but a "speak-of-the-devil" from the amused officer, Lindsay took a deep breath and turned to face another amused employee of the NYPD. Mouth frozen, but legs forced to move by increasing pressure on her elbow, Flack turned 'walk and talk' into 'drag and talk' and spout forth information into Lindsay's ear. "Crime scene's this way. DOA, man mauled by a tiger, and Cunningham's right this time. Not something you see everyday. Mac's been waiting for you. And don't listen to a thing Messer says; he's too full of crap to trust half the things he says, especially if you don't know him very well. You're late, better hurry."

A point towards the crime scene, and Lindsay was left to walk to the crime scene, alone, and with burning ears. _I just called him an asshole... so he obviously doesn't like me very much... and he told me to not trust Messer (what kind of a name is that?) so I guess I should trust him.__  
_  
The next few moments were a blur, with the words "call him sir" ringing around in her head next to "he's too full of crap to trust". Then she was kneeling on the ground, too close to a tiger's mouth for comfort, and spouting information, unneessesary and unwonted, at rapid-fire speed. She calls him sir, glares at Danny, then sees Flack a few hundred yards away. Smirking. "I told you so" written all over his face.

_"So, have you met any hot guys yet?" _

_"I haven't met anybody yet." Still the typical best friend, even though miles (lightyears, is more like it) away. _

_"But didn't they send someone to pick you up at the airport?" _

_"Yeah, they sent a detective." The sentences were short and simple, Lindsay was still trying to fit into the flow of the native New Yorkers._

_"Guy?" I can see where this is going. _

_"Yeah." _

_"Hot?" _

_Could she guess by the way I said it? "No."_ _Lie. "Hey, I gotta go. I'm already late, and I think I see the crime scene up ahead..."_


End file.
